Touches Provoke Reactions
by A. K. Chiswell
Summary: 1 of 3. He remembered, but she did not. One touch was all it took. Changes irreversable, lives lost and gained, touches are provoking reactions. Rated M for sex, language and blood.
1. Animal

Summary: He remembered, she didn't. Touches provoked reactions.

Disclaimer:

OHKAY PEOPLE! I don't own these characters; they're from the game Left 4 Dead, ohkay? But Fanfiction isn't letting me upload so I'm putting it up here.

Note: I may continue this… It depends on the ratings and reviews I get, I've fallen in love with this pairing okay guys and the majority of the stories out there end up with the Hunter dying *cries* I can't have that! My world is filled with butterflies and rainbows, not lovers being left alone! D:

Before the infection had spread they'd been best friends, lovers in a sense if you could call them that. Fuck buddies? No, definitely lovers because they'd been so gentle with each other that everyone knew they were an item. Her father didn't like it, his parents had never approved but who gave a crap, they'd been young and in love. Then the virus struck.

The Hunter's claws gripped around the hand rail, from underneath the dark hood he gazed out over the City, his City and his tongue lolled from his jaws when he caught the scent of human on the wind. He liked human, human was food. From beside him a Smoker stirred, long tongue dripping saliva every where. Pleasant.

The living undead weren't the most pleasant creatures, the Hunter knew. Take the Boomer for example with his hurling of vile bodily fluids as his main attack or the lumps and boils that grew on the skin of man an infected undead especially a Smoker, it seemed. The Hunter really seemed to be the only one that didn't have so many lumps and bumps and who didn't spew anywhere. He salivated, salivated badly but hey give the guy a break!

The smell of human still had his attention, pointed teeth bared in a feral smile that made the crusting blood on his lips flake away and fall down and he turned, skittered across the rooftop down towards a balcony and then skittered down that way. He got down three stories then jumped to the opposite, dropped down onto the remains of a burnt ouf car and stretched out with a snarl before turning and racing down the street, he knew more of his brothers would be following along behind him – they always did.

Many assumed Hunters were one and the same, no, this Hunter, this particular Hunter was the first Hunter. The main and fitting that discription he seemed to have some sort of hold on the others, part of the base of his neck was missing but his hood masked any wounds aside from the blood that now stained the front of the once deep blue hoodie. He came to a halt on a street corner where they low lighting of a street light flew down onto him and bathed him in the light. He sat back, legs pulled up in a way that couldn't possibly have been considered human and his clawed hands dragged down his hood and feverishly began to comb through his hair. Fleas still bothered the undead more than the survivors.

He had once been a nice looking boy, perhaps not nice enough that everyone else had gone out with but he'd still had his fair share. His eyes were now a dark black, bottomless and his hair had tints of brown running through it but under the street lamp looked predominantly black. Suited him fine, when he'd cared for his appearance anyway.

Their meeting was just by chance. He stopped his fevered scratching when he heard the softest of noises off to his left, in the shadow of a destroyed oil tanker and his head tilted with his lips smoothing back over his teeth as he slowly moved across and underneath the truck to peer out the other side. The light didn't reach there and in the light that came through the partially broken windows he could see the light reflecting off her cheeks. She'd starved, poor girl, her tears ran red down her cheek and it seemed she wore nothing but a pair of –by now – dirtied and dark grey knickers with a dark grey top to match on underneath. _Probably bitten by a family member at home_, he thought, _only way to explain why she'd be in almost nothing_. The thought made an uncomfortable ache begin to grow. There was something familiar about the crying infected which made him want to take a closer look so he enduldged himself and climbed from beneath the truck the moved over to her, sniffed at the Witch from behind. Her response was a loud wail, her head throw back. The Hunter jumped; moved away with tensed muscles and moved back only once she'd dropped her head back into her hands.

On her left hand she had a ring, a glistening ring that was by now crusted with blood on her taloned fingers but it stayed perfectly where it was and deep down in his subconcious, the Hunter knew who's ring that was. It hit him like a lightening bolt, like buckshot to the chest and he sat down abruptly, stared at her.

He used to know her, now it wasn't the concious thought that made him act but the subconcious. This girl, he knew this Witch. His clawed hand reached out and set against her shoulder, he did not flinch when the Witch lashed out at him this time because his mind was locked in the battle of a memory. It was breif, a second long flash and then it was gone again.

_Hands brushed bare skin worshipping a pierced naval with his tongue while tasting the familiar salt that came with sweat, her breaths came in rough gasps, little body trembling under his._

_ "One day, one day little one, our children will reside there" He rumbled softly, the cross he wore falling to brush against her thigh and made her twitch._

_ "Our children" She breathed._

The Hunter knew this girl more intimately than his primal mind would allow him to comprehend, all he knew was that he'd once mated with this girl and the tightness in the front of his trousers made it clear that he wanted that to happen again. The Witch was glaring at him through her hand, her tears red hot and spilling down her cheeks, curled up and rocking somewhat back and forth.

He sat back slightly, out of the immediate striking range for the woman and his hand slid down his shirt while she watched him in case he tried to make a move on her and seemed to faulter in her crying when he pulled out a silver cross on a long thick piece of black rope. It was blooded and dull in the almost invisible moonlight but still she could see it.

Now it was her turn to be struck by a subconcious lash back - her human life, her and this strange Hunter who now stared at her dumbstruck from under his hood while the cross swung between them like a link.

Many thought it was always the loving memories that were shared the longest between a loving pair – they were wrong. Normally? It was the darker side, the more hateful side shone through like their arguments. Not now, now it was just a rough night during winter.

_The bed sheets felt like nothing compared to the warmth on her back, breasts pressed into the materess whilst her long nails clutched at the bed sheets and to muffle her moans from reaching her parents he'd fashioned a make shift gag out of a discarded pillow case so now she could only moan and cry out and now only he could hear her. He'd sunk behind her on his knees, his large hands gripped her thin hips and thrust into her rhythmically, their union was far from sweet. She'd missed him, he'd been gone for weeks and now he'd suddenly come careering back into her life with slashed up arms and a wanted bounty on his head. Her boy was a killer, but he would never hurt her. _

_His head dropped back with the most rumbling of moans, hips pushing roughly forwards into her as he felt her roughly clench around him in her orgasm and her body froze, her nails scrabbling now upon the headboard and creating a noise until he grasped them and yanked them behind her back and continued his frantic thrusting. The coil of pleasure that had been building and building in the base of his stomach exploded, caught him off guard and below him the female felt him tense and then twitch within her, twitched instantly a third time, then a forth before falling still. _

The Witch stared at the cross for a long moment; something flickered through the red eyes before she turned away and began to weep again. The Hunter stared at her in shock and he let go of the cross, it dangled from his neck above the dark blue hoodie and he crept quietly closer, long tongue extending to just brush against her cheek. The Witch sniffed, her red tears starting to slow before she shifted from her knees and lay down on her front, her arms folded in front of her with her head buried in them. She still wept, still wailed but it had taken on a different tone to when the Hunter had first found her.

She had her back turned to him, and the fact the infected could now see up under her shirt wasn't helping situations. He was a Hunter for crying out loud! He hunted! Be it women, be it food, or be it the one he'd been searching for. No, conciously he had not been searching for her, conciously he had no fucking clue but subconciously, deep down in them both they both knew each other.

The Hunter crawled over her truly before he realized what he was doing and when his weight sank down over the Witch her unneeded breath hitched at the pressure on her ribs but she didn't take her head out of her arms until he began to lick away the trail of blood at her neck from all her tears, so she turned and she looked at him as best she could as he licked. Gods knew the underlying tie to their relationship had been the small touches, now, as the infected they had no chance of children, no chance of the life they wanted or even to be able to speak each other's names again but they would have more encounters like this. Her Hunter would be able to get close to her.

The silver haired female suddenly pushed her hips back up against his and the Hunter above her stopped his licking and his lips pulled back from his teeth with an involuntary rumbling snarl; it was not something hostile but still something feral that triggered something in the Witch. She pushed her hips back again, more forcefully this time as if she were trying to get him to get off her and used whatever was left in her frail arms to push herself upright. Hunter seized her wrists roughly, pulled them behind her so she fell back to her position, her head resting against the cold pavement with cold breasts pressed to the concrete and the damp from the rain the night earlier. Hunter had control of this now, hips grinding back against hers as instinct dictated. He liked this, he liked the feel of this, to have a body underneath his own that didn't fight back or try to fill him with rounds and turn him into cheese.

After a few slow seconds the Witch gave a wail and the Hunter looked down at her, his dark eyes seeing her for the first time. It seemed she felt the same as he did so he wasted no time in tearing away whatever little she had left on and although it was not instinct to undress a person, it was still instinct to mate with them. That was what he was going to do, this girl had once been his and he would make her his again. His trousers, thankfully, were not held up by a belt or anything like that so when his clawed hands caught the edges he pulled them down easily and up sprung his erection, tall and proud.

It was wrong to call them dead, because they were still alive just… infected with virus, their hearts no longer beat but the virus beat for them. Subconcious memories still remained intact whereas the virus took over all concious ones.

The Hunter had her thin wrists pinned in a single large hand at the base of her back but he left them go and grasped hold of her hips and after a few teasing rubs of his lengths against the mound of her sex he found himself inside her. Her channel was soft, smooth like the warmest of velvets and contracted so suddenly around him that the infected could not deny the loud roar that broke its way through his throat, her wail joined his.

It was strange really, because although the Hunter knew the infected had heard their cries they did not rally around to see the "fight" as they normally would have done, although the humans in the area would most probably have taken up the majority of their attention.

She was slick, with blood or her own bodily fluids he didn't know but she was so tight to be in and after his first thrust he pulled out from her and shuffled back slightly, dragged her hips back just as he thrust forwards and penetrated again, mounted her in the way an animal may have down and kept a grasping hold of her hips whilst his body pressed to hers, chest to her shoulder blades with snarls and growls, saliva dripping down onto her skin as he picked up an instinctive set of movements, hips rocking back and forth with a need that could only be described as the need for flesh, the need for warmth and the need to feel something other than cold hostility.

Anything but guns.

The Witch could feel him, not just the body on top of hers but every movement he made inside her made her entire body shudder and jerk. Her tears had stopped and the only noise she made were soft noises and hitches of unwanted breath with the occasional wail and whine as he slowed his pace or he'd stopped hitting a special place within her. Could she still feel like this? Apparently so, could she still be mated? Yes. The chances of her becoming pregnant? No one had ever seen a mated pair so no one truly knew.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulled her back into each thrust and his teeth were bared against her back before his entire body arched over hers and pulled her right down to his base as he shuddered from head to toe. A seemingly familiar ache, the explosion that he KNEW would feel so sweet.

Perhaps making love would've been better, but that was not what this was, not this time, this time it left it down to just erotic mating. Regardless to whether the Witch was willing or not in the beginning she was wriggling slightly under his fractionally limp form and while she wriggled she only pressed herself and rubbed herself against his hips which forced him to arch into her in reaction. She wanted her release and he hadn't given her that.

When he moved to pull away she screamed at him, her frail arms gave her leverage he wasn't aware she had and the Hunter found himself on his back with a very annoyed looking Witch lying over him having turned with a tremendous speed as he'd fallen and without any warning she sank back onto him and leant forwards so her breasts – although still covered by a grey shirt – pressed to his chest, her sharp little teeth digging into his neck hard enough to draw blood as she continued her rough rhythm of grinding down against his body and the Hunter lay there, whined and growled out at the extra pleasure she was sending up his body which then circulated back down to his length.

The Witch shivered, her tiny body trembled and seized atop of his with her head thrown back, her mouth wide open and her eyes squeezed shut with a wailing climax and then collapsed against him. The Hunter didn't seem surprised when she covered her face and began to weep again, nuzzling into the cross that still remained resting against the dark blue hoodie.

Subconciously they remembered one another, but conciously they were mates. They were rough and they were violent, it was not love making it was sex but who was anyone else to dare and try to tell them different.


	2. I'm Broken And Abandoned

_Touches Provoke Reactions_

_PEOPLE I UPDATED! Hunter plushie for me pweasseee? Anyways, before I start writing I had a review from a person who put their name down as "Doesn't Matter"… It seriously does matter D: I want to give you a virtual lollipop.__ I probably will update when I get the time, boyfriend, college and a new social life is keeping me more than a little active, but those who're loyal will be rewarded ^^ The majority of the story will be interlapsing bits, some Pre-infection and some Post-infection. Pre-infection will be marked in italics._

_.com/watch?v=V5bxIVPc8ts_

_I was listening and watching to this while I wrote ^^ It may shine through on my writing._

_Summary: He remembered, she didn't. Touches provoked reactions._

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters; they're from the game Left 4 Dead, ohkay? Remember, reviews = plushies and cookies for you._

He hunted, that's what he did. The Witch knew that so why now – as she stayed lying above him, her little undead body trembling – did she want him to stay? She wanted him to stay and she wanted him to give her what he just had over and over again. She wanted to feel the emotions he'd just stirred and she wanted them now so in silence the Witch pushed herself to sit up – still impaled on him – and let her claws drag down his chest to strip off the hoodie.

The Hunter's reaction was quicker than she'd anticipated, he swiped away her hands and had rolled them over before dismounting from her and stretching out in an almost feline way, top half stretched out as far as he could, tucked himself back inside his jeans. The Hunter didn't pay much attention to the Witch until he heard her wail and his response was an almost carelessly feral look over his shoulder at her and turned around. The silver cross swung freely. He watched with cool black eyes as the Witch shifted across to him, her red eyes flowing with red tears as she swiped suddenly at his face and neck. The Hunter recoiled with a screaching growl as her claws tore through the skin of his face down to his collarbone, turned tail and fled from her, snarling in his anger.

They were a mated pair, he'd come back and the Witch knew he would but until then she simply stared down at the silver cross that was now on the floor, the black cord torn after she'd slashed so carelessly at the Hunter. HE had pushed her away; HE had denied her what she wanted. Subconciously, she despised him for it, subconciously, she knew that even as an infected he would be no different to when he was alive. He'd break her and she knew she'd let him.

_"Baby you know I meant you no harm" _

_He'd sat himself at her kitchen counter, watched her in silence while she almost violently whirled around the kitchen, hurling his hoodie with a fierce slam into the washing machine and switched it on. Sometimes he was more afraid of her than she was of him, simply because he couldn't hit her. _

_ "You meant me no harm? Jezus Christ Gabriel!" Snarled the woman and Gabriel's response was to lean against the counter in his chair and chew at his lower lip. He stayed where he was until she came around and looked at him quietly._

_Quite a hunk, her Gabriel, easy on the eyes and sexy with his black hair and his brandy coloured eyes, smooth skin and almost boyish mentality but underneath the sexy, boyish attitude he was a killer – a killer at 19. _

_She didn't understand why she liked the bad boy types, then again she was hardly a devout church goer or anything like that but still she wasn't one to get brought back to her parents at four o'clock in the morning for being caught trying to graffitti on the ch__urch bell. Gabriel had done so!_

_ "You shot a man and then left MY phone at the scene!" She said, "I told you to look after it and you left it behind, good god what will my father say when he finds out? Gabriel you will RUIN me one day" She growled. Gabriel watched her and she hated to see the spark of anger flicking across the brandy eyes but at that moment she simply didn't care. He never responded other than;_

_ "The guy was an asshole, he was touching what was rightfully mine and I'm sorry but I dislike sharing you with other men, now get over here and gimmi a kiss" he said, reaching over and grabbing her by the hair, yanked her into an almost violent kiss. At first she resisted, scratched his cheeks but then gave in and melted into the touches. _

Damn that Witch. He sat on top of an old warehouse, stared in silence and darkness of his City. A Smoker drooled lazily near him, head tilted back with its long slobbering tongue flopping and gooing everywhere in its typical manner.

When it came to the Infected, everyone thought them to be mindless flesh eaters and in some ways they were right but at other times they were incredibly, incredibly wrong. No one knew what it was like to know you were once something so sophisticated, so intelligent but forced into becoming a feral bastard with several things on his mind at one go. Not that it was too much for the Hunter to handle, oh no, he handled just fine.

Society amongst them went in several stages, the top being the Tank and the Witch, the Tank being in the "Don't ever fuck with" category and the Witch being in the "Stay the fuck away from" category. A) The Tank could bowl you right over without you really even noticing and B) being the Witch could tear you to shreds unless you torched her ass. The Smokers and Hunter's got on well, they fought at times but hell, as long as there wasn't a Jockey around they never were particularly bothered with one anothers presence. The Smoker snored and the Hunter stared out quietly, ignoring his company until finally skittering across a balcony and down the side of the building, leapt across to the opposite and scrabbled – only slightly – to get a foot hold and made his way into the hotel, down the halls and sniffing every so often, growling and clicking its alien tongue. At the other side, no one tried to stop him and he launched from building to building in silence, the movements calmed him down substansially and halted the aching anger that was building up in the back of his chest, threatening to spill over.

She'd actually hit him! Sliced up his face! Most of all, he couldn't feel the weight of the cross slapping against his chest anymore and that angered the Hunter more than it ever could have done. Jumping and running between buildings made him relax, made him happy. He liked doing this, oh he liked it very much, the feel of the wind rustling in his clothes.

The wail stopped him.

Was it? She moved quick, little bitch probably wanted to draw his blood some more so the Hunter did what his fellow brothers did – he stayed well away from her.

The Witch could see him, leaping from building to building and wailed, she wailed for him. He never turned around, vanished between the two high rises – or what remained of them – and didn't look back as he did so. Her response? She wailed all the louder. Damn him! How dare he ignore her! The feral side of her argued that she didn't need him, she didn't want him either but her instincts was to protect and feel protected – even though the Hunter had been rough in their mating he'd still protected her when others had not, he'd not let another Infected near her in such a short while. That was kind of hypocritical, she never let an Infected near her but at times she did miss the phantom feel of arms around her undead flesh.

Everyone thought the Witch couldn't stand, everyone believed that she wobbled and was frail when she walked. Not so. She walked upright and surprisngly straight. Her claws silently clicked together as the wailing bitch hauled herself to stand and began to quietly move. It was rare to see a Witch move, which was probably why a Smoker peered at her intently from over its balcony. It wasn't a Spitter; Spitters seem to be jealous of the Witches, she'd seen a Spitter start a fight with a fellow sister – the Spitter hadn't come out alive and that had just cemented the Witch's scare factor even amongst the Infected population.

She made her way down south, skittering into the sewers and then dropped herself back down in her normal way and began to wail again. Down there the Hunter wouldn't be able to hear her wailing and that was what she wanted – she didn't WANT him to hear her because she knew she'd get his pity. The Witch didn't want pity, she wanted to kill and be left alone and the latter was more important to her.

A Boomer silently swaggered over in his bumbling manner, rolls of fat and sores mixed together created a putrid smell but that didn't bother the Witch now, not until it – completely without provokation and warning – vomited all over the small woman. That was the final straw, now she was pissed. The Witch jumped upright and ran at him, screaming and flailing, chopped the Boomer into little tiny pieces and sat down in its remains.

Life was a bitch. He hunted, she cried. Even Post-infection their lives continued in their misery and torment. They Witch and the Hunter had found a brief solace to their dark lives but that had been something primal and without reasoning. The Hunter felt the urge to return, the Witch wanted him back but they wouldn't indulge that in the least, at least not for a long while.


	3. It's So Hot In The Jungle

_I have news - other than the fact I'm posting__ a potentially critical part of the story right here… - and me thinks you might quite enjoy it. I've recently been helping a friend whom I adore very much write a fan fiction that involves the Hunter and Witch pairing in this, you'll find the link to her profile under "Luffle" and the story you want is Anfisa, take a butchers! Now you'll know why I haven't been updating._

_Cookies for: Deceptichick02 for her hilarious review, whazzup2939 for the kudos and Inki Veins for the wonderful compliment to my writing style! Those who win the Hunter plushes will know next chapter ;D_

_I'm also sorting through another set of stories, it's called Blue Collar Series and is due to be published next month so keep your eyes peeled, it will be a dark series but nothing post-apocalypse and on my Fiction Press account._

_Disclaimer: I don't own these yadayada no matter how much I'd want to._

_Gabriel leant back in the leather seat of the car, his hands trembling quietly as he leant into the glove box and pulled out a small red pack with a white cross on it._

_ "Shit." the man hissed as it tumbled out of his hand and onto the floor. He glanced at the road for a few seconds before bending down to retrieve it, swiped it up and dropped it in his lap before turning his gaze back to the road again. He was driving like a demon, swerving in and out of the traffic and somehow avoided getting a parking ticket, then again when the traffic cop saw the state of his left arm they quickly let him go again._

_He was a runner, a youth that had studied stunts heavily and did his own – one fall today had gone drastically wrong and now he had a gash the size of Port Neptune* running down his arm and the blood was starting to seep through his hoodie. Was that? FUCK! _

_Someone had stumbled out into the road in front of him and in the confusion Gabriel had lost control of the wheel. The car spun off to the left with a sickening crunch and upturned on the gravel to the side of the tarmac. The scent of diesel was rife when Gabriel came too from his unconsciousness, staring up at the seats in complete and total confusion before mentally smacking himself through the heavy fog that had settled upon his brain. He'd forgotten to wear a seatbelt, no wonder the world was upside down. His left arm felt heavy and when he leant on it the pain was no longer there, it was just entirely numb from loss of blood. Had he been thinking straight the runner would've torn off his belt and used it as a tourniquet but he wasn't thinking straight at all and did the most natural reaction in that situation – he dragged himself out of the car and lay down quietly with the world swimming._

_There was no noise now, there was nothing at all other than the trickle of the stream that the glazed over eyes were staring at. Birds wheeled overhead, their screeching cries calling to the deeper, more instinctual side of Gabriel's nature and landed on the branches of the tall tree's who's limbs reached over as if to claw at him, to tear him to pieces but surprisingly the youth wasn't afraid by them. Not anymore. The ground felt soft yet prickly from the fallen leaves, the scent was breezy and the wind seemed as soft as an angel's breath and caressed his clothes softly, made them rustle before – almost insultingly – blowing a gale strong enough to suddenly knock his hood forwards over his head. So nature didn't like him watching them dance as he died? _

_Fuck the system._

Gabriel had been found later that night after a patrol car had come across a missing part of fence line to keep the cars safe. She'd found the car – and not too far away had found Gabriel too, a small red pack with a white cross still clutched in his right hand. He was cold by the time the medical officer got down there, her springy blond hair falling around her face and leant down to softly press two fingers to his pulse. The lack of it only confirmed what she already knew – no one could have survived with the amount of absorbed blood-stains there were around the blooded corpse.

In the distance a figure had curled over, one hand resting against the tree line and stared at them before turning and running off before anyone could notice it.

The Hunter no longer remembered how he'd come to be, as far as he was concerned he took care of whatever urges he had at the time whether it would be to mate with his Witch or to go and chew on some dead survivor or another type of corpse. Hey, perhaps he'd go after a Jockey and shred it. It really did depend on his mood. He didn't remember the strange figure; he didn't remember how nature had turned her back so cruelly on him while he'd watched her dance in his final moments. Then… rumble.

The Hunter was hungry.

So much for explaining why he didn't remember, or trying to subconsciously reason with himself, he was off to find some food and climbed up a drainpipe and swayed cat-like over the rooftop as his claws clicked quietly on the floor. It was a quiet city these days, not many survivors. Down there, a survivor lurked – a woman, the Hunter could smell – in a corner with a pistol in one hand and a bundle clutched to her chest with the other and remained oh so deadly silent as to not attract a hoard of Infected in her direction. It worked…. But only until the Hunter screamed and leaped at her. He was hungry, why should he care?

The woman turned on him suddenly with a wail, it didn't sound like a Witch so he wasn't that bothered and opened fire on him. The first just skimmed by his head, the second and last shot struck his shoulder and knocked his pounce off balance so he hit the bin beside her rather than the figure. She turned, advanced on the howling Hunter and struck him roughly about the door with the butt of her pistol and then retreated, trained the gun at him. The Hunter was hungry and wouldn't be deterred from his pray so easily, scrabbled so furiously he knocked the bin over and then turned to her, crouched low and pounced again. Her shots missed this time, his hands coming to clamp on her shoulders so hard the claws broke through the shirt and straight into the muscles of her back. The scream died down and she tumbled backwards, the tiny bundle in her arms slipping loose to lie beside them as the Hunter straddled her and tore into her chest and stomach despite her wild and wailing protests, reaching up to grab a handful of dark hair and yank. The Hunter's response was to lean down and bite hard into her throat, tear roughly before climbing off her when she kicked him slightly too hard to be comfortable and turned towards the end of the alley, dragging her by the neck into a darker corner to tear into her there.

The bundle was left there for some hours, within it? A sleeping babe, no older than six months by the looks of it but still stock still and silent, completely unable to comprehend the fact that Momma had just been torn to pieces by a brutal work of man, no, not man, science. It was a second or two longer than three or four hours when he started to scream loudly and it may have been the subconscious realization that Momma was dead or it may have been the fact no one was giving him any attention, he needed changing or the fact that he too was hungry now, tiny tummy empty.

"Shushhh!" Came the coo that quietened the baby substantially. Bright blue eyes stared down at the girl leaning over him. Her face was dirty, her lips thin and her nose and eyes were ringed with bruises from a break but at least she wasn't going to eat him. "Shush!" She commanded again and the babe remained silent, sniffled and flailed within the blanket that was followed by a very loud rumbling noise from the tiny tot's tummy. The girl looked around then leaned her gangly body downwards and scooped him up, a bas ball bat in one hand before turning and fleeing into a nearby building. Who in their right mind would leave a babe in the middle of the street in a zombie apocalypse? Unless the guardians had been killed. She had no idea how right she was.

Nira Southworth* was a 15 year old girl from the City across, she had dark brown hair that was tied into a tight ponytail and a jump suit that looked distinctly military. She carried a metal base ball bat and also used it to jam the door once she found a room that wasn't infected nor had any windows so she knew they were safe. Brown gaze slunk across the child that was wrapped within the dirty blanket and silently began to unwrap the blankets from around him. Half way through she came to a note.

_"If I'm reading this, then I am dead and my son is now in your care. His name is Jakobi*. Take good care of him" _

"Huh, short and sweet. Jakobi, eh? I think ill call you Jake for short" She was panicking, she knew that. How could she take care of a baby when she could barely take care of herself? But one thing Nira couldn't do – would never do – was turn down someone who needed the help. "Damn it all to hell" she grunted, unwound him the remainder of the way and silently tossed the soiled diaper to one side, looked at the tot and sighed deeply. "Sorry kid, outta pampers, the best I can do is wipe you up."

The Hunter didn't know just how important the child would come in the not so distant future, after all people who changed lives were born every minute. Perhaps even him, as a human could have gone towards SOMETHING good rather than tearing around trying to eat the guts out of the nearest living breathing person. Oh well. No use crying over spilt milk – but in this case it was spilt blood – and he knew he just had to get on with it.

Perhaps he'd go visit his Witch? There was nothing else for him to do that he hadn't already done hundreds of times before and she'd moved out of the sewers, how did he know? He'd heard her wailing from a block or two over towards the edge of the city towards where all the cottages seem to have been made. Perhaps tomorrow, he was tired – yes, the undead needed to sleep – and sleep was much more inviting than going to poke at something that could tear his ass to shreds within seconds if she so chose too.

_1} Port Neptune* is a large level in the game Bioshock_

_2} Nira Southworth* is used in the __fan fiction Anfisa which is set after TPR's_

_3} Jakobi* is one of the main characters in the fan fiction Anfisa which is set after TPR's_


	4. No, He Would NEVER Loose Me

_It's been too long, feel free to beat my ass but Word keeps shutting as soon as it's loading so I've had to download LibreOffice . Don't know if I like it yet._

_I'm pretty sure this won't be a very long one because my muse has yet to crawl out of the nasty trap which is writers-block but I do have some future plot lines :D_

_There's a new character in this, ill be running with his POV for a while but you'll never be getting his name so you'll be having to wait and read Anfisa to find out who he is. First one to guess correctly gets a plushie of his slightly-mad-godly-ness. _

_Without further due: _

_Hunter, Witch, Infected, Immune, Survivors, L4D/L4D2 (c)VALVE_

_New OC, Gabriel, Tabitha, Nira & Jakobi (c)Alexandra Chiswell_

* * *

The house smelt different to where he'd last seen his Witch, where he'd last forced her down beneath his own weight. It smelt stale and uncared for just like the Infected did on a daily basis but this had the stench of mould growing around it. Infected didn't go mouldy even though the Boomer and Smoker looked like they'd been attacked by damp spores.

He could hear the Witch upstairs, probably rocking back and forth but she was crying again. When was the damned bitch not crying? Snorting he shook his head simply and took to crawling around downstairs with a medpack clutched in his right hand, where had he even got the damn thing? He couldn't remember it now but he was very happy to just crawl about with it before setting it between his teeth so he wasn't overbalancing too often. The Hunter was very content to just crawl around before eventually slinking up the stairs like a lizard and dropped the pack by a random door and moved towards the door.

The scent was getting thicker, what was it, masculine? This was stirring something in the back of his head, something that made him panic and made him angry at the same time and he hadn't even nudged the door open yet. How did a simply scent drag such a reaction out of him when he'd not even seen another person in the house aside from himself and the woman who was still wailing her dislike behind the door he was now standing two legged in front of. When the Hunter finally shoved the door open he stepped not into a crumbling, bare walled ruin but he stepped into a lush room with red walls and a cream carpet with a black ceiling and a large double bed in the corner and a walls worth of book cases opposite and a balcony on the left side. The blankets on the duvet was champagne coloured and a brown and black Alsatian sprawled out on the end with his paws resting off. Pausing, the Hunter simply stared. A girl was sitting behind the dog, stroking his head lightly before reaching for a brush and combing through the bit she'd straightened a few seconds prior to his coming in.

When she saw him, she turned and smiled then made a motion with her hand before rolling her eyes and jumping off the bed and moving across to him, voice tender;

_"Gabriel"_

Set a hand on his cheek, to warm skin.

The Hunter came too to find himself by the stairs again, five long claw marks scraping down his hoodie and allowing the wind in. The cold just pissed the Hunter off. Pushing himself to all fours he peered down towards the door and noticed it had been shoved open but blood spatter now marked it and – following with his gaze – the Hunter noticed how it led straight past him and down the stairs only to spot a lone Survivor missing a heart at the bottom. The Witch stood over him with her claws spread and growling menacingly enough but the Hunter did notice how he was lacking any wounds himself. Had the human gone at him only for the other Infected to get involved? Since when did the Witch look after anyone but herself?

He came slowly down the stairs while the Witch dropped to her knees and started to carve into the carcass to pull free the meat and chew away lightly. She hissed at him angrily when he got close but when he moved away she whined until he came back but then hissed at him again, inwardly thankful he ignored the unwanted threats and dipped down his head to pull a long strip of flesh of an arm and sat back quietly. As long as he didn't go too near to her or where she fed he was fine with what he was doing. Cutting free an arm and dragging it away into a corner he was quite happy to nibble away. The Witch however seemed to have an almost insatiable appetite and even went as far as to grab his arm by the bone and try pulling it from between his teeth! Now the Hunter was having none of that and managed to chase the hungry Witch until she hid in a corner and started to cry.

Damn it.

Why did the tears always affect him? The Hunter just huffed and turned his back on her and continued eating but the crying was grating on his instincts and eventually – when his patience had fully run out – he turned and all but flung the arm at her, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest and trying to ignore he inward glee when the Witch stopped crying and turned on the arm with a cry, pouncing on it and nibbling away.

Bitch got everything she wanted.

Of course he'd have to wait a long while to find out why she was so hungry.

The Hunter spent the next week in and around the house, claiming the second largest bedroom as his own and day after day the Witch could hear him scrabbling back and forth and dropping things in said bedroom before running out again only to come back about ten minutes later and dropping something else. Whilst he was out her curiosity got the better of her and she went to go see and on her way in stepped on something red and white and made her foot hurt. Yowling angrily, she stepped back only to boot it across the room and watch it fall into a corner with about ten to fifteen other white and red things. They were all red squares with white crosses on them. What was her Hunter hoarding? Then she heard him climbing up the side of the house and quickly fled the room, not wanting for him to see her there and went and dropped herself back down in her corner on her mattress and curled herself into a tight ball and simply sobbed herself to sleep.

What he did until she woke up was his business but when she /did/ finally wake up she was surprised to find him sitting in front of her, rocking backwards and forwards on the front of his boots and growling softly at her, pawing at her arm. The Witch hissed at him but she got nothing but a whine in response as he crawled over her and pressed his body to hers with a rumble. She sobered when she realized he wasn't actually wanting to mate with her, he was cold and she was cold. Together they were both still cold but it was the instinctive want to be warm that drove him to trying to get close to rest beside her. The Witch huffed and rolled over, ignoring him until the Hunter abruptly dropped himself behind her, curling up into a ball with his cold nose stuck at the base of her skull. The Witch hissed at him, but by that time he was far too fast asleep to really grasp what she was trying to do to him.

* * *

No one could understand the pain. They never would. No one alive today had been alive enough to understand the pain. The people I found, they were amateurs, boys. They couldn't survive like I could, they hadn't married. They hadn't lost.

People complained about loosing loved ones but fuck it, you lived right? Survival of the fittest? Bullshit. You live to push the next generation forwards and then you bow down like a hero and exit-stage for the last time. That was my job, to push the next generation forwards and then retreat into the background to await a silent but swift death.

It was raining again, hammering the barred and barricaded windows and dripping onto the laminate flooring of the apartment we stayed in but we just let it drip these days, normally put bottles underneath to catch it because at least then we had some decent drinking water. The kid had most of the provisions, I was used to running on empty. Being in the forces did that to a person.

"Hey" He was standing at the doorway when I noticed him, turning and lowering the binoculars from my face and let them dangle around my neck. He said nothing in reply but came across and bound his arms around my waist and buried his face in my abdomen with a sniff.

"Another nightmare?" the boy nodded in response and I softly ruffled his hair before setting my hands on his shoulders and moving him away, kneeling down in front of him and taking his face into my hands. "Your mother would be so proud of you, son. She loved you and I love you and you know that while we're here you will never be hurt do you understand?" I waited until he nodded, then kissed him on the head. "Go on, back to bed with you." I paused a beat, then knelt back down and clipped a ring and chain around his neck. "There, she's with you now. She will always be with you."

When he left I simply rubbed my temples. God damn it. It wasn't even three years and already my hair was starting to go grey. Was that the least of my worries? Fuck no. We had little to no water, little to no food or provisions and ammunition was running short. I knew I had to move soon and I knew it would be difficult. If I died then my son would be left all on his own. The thought made my stomach knot and plummet painfully. No. He wouldn't be alone in this world, I'd kill to protect him and I'd not consider the option of dying while trying. He'd lost his mother.

He would _not_ loose me.


	5. Not In My Own Bed

_Someone set the muse free. Okay, this time our mystery OC will be named – but not shamed – and his back story will somewhat be looked into. Not too much, I'm giving nothing away for Anfisa for what happens in that. Of course, Anfisa is a lot longer after this fiction is set but still, you catch my drift._

_I know there may be some chronological issues with the dating of this, I've noticed but its a fic and for flows sake just ignore the age strangeness and just read the tale, mkay? Thankies ;)_

_Don't need to do the disclaimers, you guys know. Don't knick mine nor my Luffs charries, aright? Ill find you. _

_Hunter+Witch plushie to Inki Veins :3 Purely because I'm feeling nice and I was asked a very intelligent question :D_

* * *

_"You going to get up baby?"_

_ "In a minute."_

_ "Josh, you're going to be late to work again."_

_ "Ill get up in a minute, Kate. Let me sleep please."_

That was how it went every single morning. Those words, in that order. Never spoken with less patience and never spoken with less desperation. He'd wanted his sleep. 6:00AM every morning Joshua Tuptanov woke to the sounds of his wife's gentle voice and her fingertips slowly trailing over his back muscles, safe and sound in his own bed, in his own home, in his own neighbourhood. He woke to the sun splitting through the curtains and catching in her red hair and the storm tossed blue eyes and he woke to the birds singing outside in the tree's.

At 6:10 every morning Kate would go downstairs, and ten minutes later Josh would follow her. He'd kiss his wife and hug his son before he left for work. They weren't rich but Josh had carved himself a nice niche in the army as an infantry man and things had worked out quite fine for them. Okay they moved about quite a bit but this was the army, not pre-school. His wife and son had grown to like the travelling. Embry had to move school a lot, but his parents always made sure he was never bullied for it.

Now he had none of that.

Three years after Infection hit his hair was already starting to grey, the stubble, sideburns and even the roots of his hair was starting to loose the brown and focus more on the greys and it showed considering he kept his hair cropped into a short back-and-sides style. His son teased him, Josh just told him to hush. It was his job to go grey and he'd go grey with pride. Dark brown eyes rarely showed much, perhaps the odd ache and pain but he was a soldier and he'd learned to cope with the pain well.

This morning Josh wasn't lying in his own bed, he wasn't lying in his own home. His wife wasn't stroking his back, or cooing at him to get up.

He was lying in a strangers bed.

In a strangers apartment.

With no Kate. _Gods I miss you._

"Fuck this shit."

Dragging himself upright and pushing the scratchy covers aside he walked through the apartment until he came across the kitchen and proceeded to dig through the duffel bag full of cans and looked between them in silence. This morning it looked like Spam or beans. Rolling his eyes, the soldier set them aside and went for the military ration packs at the bottom. He'd rather take the chance that they'd gone off than eat Spam. Even after an apocalypse he was still a picky eater.

"Dad?"

"Mornin' sport. Sit down and see what you want for breakfast." Josh was always up first. Embry never seemed to get up until after his father had. Okay, lies, sometimes he did. Josh had wondered though, had the boy grown used to waiting to see if his father found anything dangerous in the apartment? The brunette shrugged off the thought.

Quietly turning towards the small white gas can in the corner of the room, hooking it up to something small and rounded. Gas came in very short supply, most people used it for bombs and explosives but why bother? Cooking with it was a lot better than shooting it. When he finished setting it up the youngest pushed a can of something across the table and Josh scooped it up without questioning it. Until he saw it, then he wrinkled his lips

"Ravioli? C'mon, I thought you had good taste buds" He snorted, pulling free a couple of mess tins from the duffel bag. Embry gave him a lop sided grin,

"I thought you'd not go grey for a few more years, we're even."

_Always with the low blows_, Josh thought as he rolled his eyes and couldn't help but smile to his only son. He couldn't help seeing a little of himself reflected in the youths actions.

"One day you'll go grey, mate, so hush your mush and wait for this to cook. You know how to turn it off?"

Embry nodded. His father had shown him how to turn it off hundreds of times.

"Good, ill be upstairs if you need me, just yell and ill be right down" Ruffling the hair of the boy, Josh slid out of the room and down the corridor towards the end and then took a right towards the front door but stopped just before the barricades, pulling a pistol from his belt and nudging the reinforced trap door open, putting the ladders too it and climbing out. He had to be careful, Hunters had been on the prowl lately and he wasn't risking one of them getting through the trap door during the night so he'd bolted steel to it. Where had the steel come from? The stove in the kitchen. It no longer worked so there was no reason not to take it apart and use the parts to make life easier.

Hauling himself up the step ladders, making his way in an almost crouched position to a pile of sand bags and kneeling down beside a large hunting rifle, leaning the barrel against the sand bags and peering through the scope. He was deranged, mad. He knew it. But in an insane world and insane mind was the only mind capable of making sense of the madness.

"What's on today then?"

* * *

The Hunter lost track of how long he spent coming and going from the house. One month, two, three? Six. Something strange was happening to his Witch and – call him old fashioned – his instincts told him not to leave her alone for too long and he never was gone for more than three or four hours at a time. Even then he was never as far away as to be unable to hear her wailing. That never happened.

Part of the Hunter just told him to leave her and stop bringing her every god damn morsel of food he had and he listened to it, god knows he listened to that side but the other side – the rational side? - told him that something big was going to happen and the Infected had to be there to take care of her, that the other Infected wouldn't have been as merciful as he had been when he'd come across her. He'd mated with his Witch and no one else was going to take her away. Of course. She still tried to shred him on occasion, his jacket was full of holes.

Today as he came back he dragged himself through the window and squirmed into his room, full to the brim of medpacks and settled down amongst them, enjoying the way their smushed and moved underneath his weight and had just closed his eyes when he heard a wailing noise from the other room. Annoyance, no, anger. He'd been trying to get some sleep and she'd been quite until he'd gotten in! Looks like that survivor hadn't lasted her long at all and he was tired of chasing other Infected around trying to tear out their spines. Smoker's were easier but the Hunter's had a bond with the Smoker's that wouldn't be broken and chasing Jockey's around grated on the Hunter's nerves so badly that often they were in too bad a condition after he'd finished with them for him to even think about taking them home to her.

The Witches room was in the back of the house, the windows boarded and the nails rusting with very little light cracking through. Dark. Just how the Witch liked it. The light that cracked through when the Hunter pushed the door open made the white haired woman wail loudly and after he came in he kicked it shut. The noise forced her to turn on him and raise her claws as if to go at him from across the room but they both knew what would happen. When it came down to sheer ferocity, she won but when it came down to strength and agility the Hunter was more than an ample match to her. He could pin her down easily. Sniffing his way across the room easily the Hunter set his clawed hand against the old wire mattress and snuffled up a bare leg until he found what he was looking for at the juncture to her thighs. He wasn't going to deny, he liked doing this and it was also a way to shut her up and send her to sleep for a fair amount of time. Time enough that he could get into a deep enough sleep not to hear her crying when she woke.

Nibbling at the fabric that kept the Hunter from his prize, he ignored the yowl of surprise as he wrenched his head – mouth full of cloth – back and tore off what the Witch had been wearing and dipped down his head again between her thighs before she could even close them again and keep him out. She did that sometimes, he knew she was playing hard to get. The Hunter always got what he wanted. Lips on the mouth of her sex wantonly, thick tongue working and working the Witch into a frenzy so much she sank her claws deep into his shoulders, shredding cloth and tearing into skin enough for blood to start beading profusely around the dug digits but she never removed them. Sex was nigh impossible in her condition, the distended and swollen stomach made it difficult for her Hunter no matter what position he managed to shove her in. On her front was uncomfortable, and that was what he liked most. He liked the feel of her back to his chest, he liked being able to get his teeth into the back of her neck and most of all the Hunter liked to be able to control her, to pull at her, to get her to do whatever his instinctive and feral mind could come up with. And it came up with a lot of things.

The Hunter suckled until he heard his Witch make a shrill noise, her frail little body tensing beneath the clawed hands clamped on her thighs and slowly removed his head. Tongue darting out across his lips, raising enough to lean over the bump and clamp his teeth into her shoulder. A sob. A mark after each of their times together, be it fully or even partly. It kept other Infected away from her and his smell all over her kept many other Hunters away from the house too. Oh well, she'd not go out now she had barely anything left on her body. She had her shirt, yes, but even her breasts were starting to test the fabric to its point and he'd just destroyed her knickers so she wouldn't be going out at all. Her claws left his shoulders and he heard them drop onto the springy worn bed beneath her as she pulled entirely away from him and curled up into a ball. The Hunter heard rather than saw her blood drip from his canines onto her outer thigh. When he licked it up, the Witch growled at him and that was when he took his queue and left her.

She was still silent when he got back to his own room, but by now he was far too wound up for his own good and the tent in his pants did nothing but agitate the Hunter further so, while the Witch slept he paced amongst his health packs cursing her feverishly in his mind while he waited for his own arousal to dim. When it did – after about twenty minutes or so – he curled up amongst his packs and fell into a light doze. The roaring in the night of the Tank's and Charger's. The stupid noises of the Spitter's, the coughing of the Smoker's and the stupidly constant braying of the Jockey's may have kept one awake. For the Hunter, it just sang him into a deep, deep lullaby.

Unknown to him in the other room, within the sleeping Witch, movement stirred.


	6. Trick Of The Light

_Touches Provoke Reactions_

_My grandmother sadly passed away on Sunday... So this chapter will probably be quite morbid so guess who I'm using? Our one and only mad soldier. _

_The aim of TPR – as many of you have coined it – is to add background to characters before Anfisa, the sister story to this one. Over the next few – possibly last – chapters we'll look more in depth at the characters lifestyles, their stories and their lives being a chapter long each. Perhaps... Perhaps the last chapter ill do something about Anfisa's childhood._

_I know people have questions: Who is the girl that the Hunter keeps seeing, how did the baby not attract a horde, how will Josh keep Embry alive for so long, how will Nira feed a tiny baby. I am getting to them, these next few chapters will smooth things out. NOTE: Josh' last name has been changed to Harding, so please disregard the Tuptanov in the last chapter, that was merely because I didn't have access to the chapter of Anfisa when he was first introduced until it was posted. _

_After TPR I am thinking of doing a new fiction, one solely centred on Josh when he was in the military and during the first few weeks of Infection. I'm not sure what to call that one yet. But for that ill need my luffs permission to use Embry quite a bit. _

_One last thing. As put down in Anfisa, me and Luff are totally at a loss at who Anfisa should end up with at the end of the fiction, should it be our mysterious, cruel and paranoid Josh or our kind and carefree Jakobi. I play both, but to be honest, not even I can decide who'd be best for Anfie. That's where we need your help._

_Ill do the Hunters chapter next, and get through to the fact of who the girl is._

_~ArmaniNightingale_

* * *

Death is a very strange thing. People call it unreal, which is complete bullshit because it's the most real and common thing on this planet. People joke about it, death is no laughing matter and anyone who said it was needed to be shot. He'd shot people. He'd watched the blood mist in the air and not pumping through the veins of the figure who'd predictably crumble to the floor like a sack of bricks.

He'd lost her and she was never coming back but why? Why in the dusk light did he see her form prowling up the bed towards him with that bright mane of red hair falling around her face and why oh why could he see the swollen breasts, larger from childbirth and being a mother.

Josh wasn't going to deny. His wife was no model. She had a slight bump to the nose, one ear stuck the tiniest bit out than the other and she had the slightest fat on her. But that's what made him love her, that was what made the soldier crave her. He didn't want a woman who's bones could be felt, who's skin had no blemishes and body had no distorted proportions. No. That wouldn't be life, that would be living in a meat suit designed to sleep with, not to make love to.

"_Joshy_" was the coo, her hand raising to brush against the whiskered cheek and pulled the all too willing man into a deep kiss that heated up every fibre in his body and made him burn with need that he'd managed to suppress and smother with the sheer desire to live and keep Embry alive. That kiss woke something you see, it made him feel alive, wanted. It made him feel needed. And he loved it.

"Kate" The lightest, breathiest of whimpers. He missed her, he longed for her. He wanted to feel her wrap her arms around him and never let him go again but that would never happen and it would be years until he felt the soft, seductive and loving feel of another. What Josh would give just to feel her fingertips brushing across his jaw.

When he opened his eyes Joshua Harding found himself alone and cold with the dusk light playing tricks with its strange coloured lighting. Kate wasn't there. Sighing throatily the brunette let his head drop back and looked at the cream coloured ceiling and let the storm of emotions surge through him while he filtered and stepped on them one at a time apart from the normal appropriate ones like paranoia, fear and anxiety.

Paranoia. Strange. He'd always had it, but now it seemed like a keen survival tool and one that – for a second time that night – Josh pushed himself from the bed, tossing the duvet aside and moved through the apartment systematically checking every window and every door. Him and Embry had been forced to move again due to a Tank busting through the skylight even though it was reinforced so Josh had made sure to go to an apartment without the roof access. The only point of possible entry was the front door and the soldier had that firmly barricaded now – much to Embry's scolding – which also included the cooker, the washing machine and the dining room table. Weighty stuff? Oh yes. Would it keep a Tank out? No. Nothing could stop a Tank unless you had an arsenal of weapons, which at current they didn't have.

Harding stopped by the bedroom door, in the low light it set stripes against the splintered wood like a tiger and he took the moment to admire that fact. Tigers were wild, untameable, stubborn and aggressive creatures. Embry was none of those, well, perhaps he was stubborn but he was a child so Josh let it slide. Pushing the door open part way he slid into the room. The orange lighting was in there as well, the sun starting to set. Embry had already gone to sleep, curled up on the bed in the corner. In here Josh had boarded the windows all apart from the occasional slat too small to get hands or claws in so Infected couldn't pull them off. The brute stopped short of his son and knelt lightly to one knee and stroked a strand of hair away from the boys forehead. He was so young, and alive, and... so like Kate it was scary but this was Embry. Not his wife. This was the boy that Josh would sacrifice himself for if he had to, but not now, he wasn't old enough to face the world alone if his father died along with his mother.

The apartment was silent and the sun had set by the time Josh got back into his own room, leaving the door slightly ajar and fell back onto the bed. For once they were in an apartment were the duvets were actually clean, not covered in blood so Josh shed everything bar his trousers and climbed between the sheets. They were warm and fragrant and had been in pristine condition the same as they'd been left in before Infection. So. Warm. Joshua found himself fast asleep before he could even count to ten, drifting off into a black pit.

_"You going to get up baby?"_

_ "I just got into bed, Kate"_

_ "No you haven't, silly"_

_The warmth spread across his back, made him shiver. Breasts, warm breasts pressed against his skin with lips dancing ghostly light across the back of his neck. Kate made a needy noise in the back of her throat,_

_ "It's almost time to get up again"_

_But Josh had no work and he knew it. Shifting beneath the bulk of the warm woman he rolled over and Kate knelt back in the rising sun, the rays hitting her body at an angle and giving Josh a very good idea the plains of her body, what was muscle and what was bone and fats. Kate knew he had no work. She was wanting one thing._

_Kate Harding didn't seem to mind when her husbands hand slid up her abdomen to cup a breast and pushed himself to sit with the other hand, kissed her deeply and pulled her bodily closer to him until eventually her motherly form was resting oh so snug against his hips and teasingly she rubbed down. Josh didn't stop the throaty groan from making its way from the deepest parts of his vocal cords. _

_ "You minx. You did it on purpose" _

_Josh accused after a second or so, between kisses that was and Kate grinned against said lips, tongue battling with him for dominance but he was bigger, stronger and wiser than her so he had no issues with pinning her tongue and suckling on it in the same way he often suckled on... something else. _

_A hand dripped almost fluidly down to her waist and no sooner had he spoken the woman on top of him let out a very happy cry as experienced fingers delved into the warm moistness between her legs to tease and make her even slicker. Both were against condoms, unfortunately, Kate stuck to the pill and the coil. Josh was surprised she'd even gotten pregnant with the damn thing fitted but she had and now little two week old Embry was fast asleep in his cot in the little side room. _

_There was no denying how committed Harding was to family. Coming back off tour, Kate had opened the door before he'd even knocked and Josh had come face to face with a six month pregnant belly. He'd had no ring. He'd had no money. Hell. He had no parents to take her home to, no sisters or brothers to show her off to. Hardly any friends to stand around and talk about her with. But it didn't stop him suddenly dropping to one knee and proposing. She'd said yes. Evidently. _

_Broken from thought when Kate moaned again, her hips tipping into his eagerly moving hand the soldier took the sweet time in watching the way her body reacted to his, how she seemed to reply with abandonment of pride and the heaviest of lusts. Josh rolled her over, watched the thick red hair spill across the pillows like blood and the stormy gaze was glittering with diamonds of lust enough that his own body shuddered. He was more than certain he was hard enough to drive a nail in with nothing but skin. _

_Lips ghosting over her neck, latching on to suckle until he managed to drag more sweet noises from her Josh pushed her legs apart with his hands and settled himself between them, hard hips to creamy smooth thighs and Kate dug her nails into his shoulders to leave little half moon impressions as – with one smooth practised stroke – the man was inside her, claiming her in the most intimate way possible. Their joining would last, rocking, writhing with one another, slicked in sweat with pants and groans, breathless moans and light cries of ecstasy. Kate uncurled her fingers from his shoulders finally, threw her arms above her head in the typical motion for him to play with her breasts and Josh wasted no time quibbling over the fact his lips were on her own. He adored her body, and he made a show of it every time they went to bed. Dropping his lips to her chest, Harding mauled her large motherly breasts with his lips and with his hands as his hips continued their almost frantic thrusting. Smooth, suave pace gone and replaced by pure animal lust. He wanted to find his edge, and Kate was wanting to feel him fill her. _

_Their ending was long in coming, but explosive and noisy. Kate arched her back beneath his lips and with a final push of her hips she made sure to sink herself down on him to the hilt, legs entwined with his own to keep him jammed against her and cried out happily as that coil that had been building in her abdomen suddenly released and sent with it a rush that could never possibly be explained. _

_Josh shuddered, once, twice and then finally a third time before he fell still with his lips now resting against her temple and breathing heavily. Both of them were breathing heavily and it took a second to get their breath back but Kate enjoyed the sound of her husbands irregular breathing and the light breathless groans and shudders of his hips with the after sparks of orgasm. She forgot how long they stayed there for, minutes, hours, until the baby began to cry anyway and reluctantly Josh rolled off and to one side, watched with a newly found lust as she got up and pulled a robe to cover her nakedness and padded out. Damn his body and its recharge time._

A normal twenty to thirty year old was normally supposed to have sex as least five to six times a week, at least that's how he'd always seen it and Kate had been all too happy to agree. Now he was pushing thirty, getting slightly too skinny and going grey as well as being pale as a ghost.

It was still dark when he woke up but he didn't need to have a degree in anatomy to know that said little dream had given him the mother of all erections. Great. That was just what he needed now. Let's add sexual frustration to the long list of flaws about life at that moment but unlike some of the things on that list, like beating Infection, curing Infection and bringing people back from the dead, sexual frustration could be dealt with rather easily. The warmth of the duvet against the slightly scar-marred skin tickle and rub against the hard nipples. Greattttt, this was REALLY what he was wanting.

Josh took a moment to run his hands down his face, the whiskers on his chin pricked him slightly but he liked the facial hair. It made him look manly. Yes. Even during an apocalypse one must have standards. After those moments were up the arousal still hadn't passed and paranoia was telling him that perhaps the scent of him – since the scent of an aroused human was said to be double that of a docile one – would attract the Infected. Double not what he needed. Harding grunted lightly as a hand squirmed between the sheets, underneath his belt and trousers to grip himself firmly in one hand. He knew what he liked, he liked being treated slightly rough but he wasn't the type of man to be squeamish about hand jobs. Draw them out, make them long, he didn't really mind. But now the arousal just needed going so he got to work with a leisurely stroking pace which gradually turned into a more frantic pace until he peaked, back arched with a muffled groan.

He didn't do it often, but when he did it definitely made him sleepy. A ragged sigh issued before he released himself, rolling to one side to grab a discarded cloth to wipe his hand and simply laid there beneath the blankets, the mildest beads of perspiration on his neck and temple but Josh didn't care. Now he simply wanted a dreamless sleep, and that was what he prayed for as the world fell back into darkness and his breathing evened out into a deep harmonic rhythm, sprawled across the bed with the moonlight streaming onto his back.

Whatever was out there, it answered his prayers.


	7. You, Me And The Devil Makes Three

Touches Provoke Reactions

RIGHT. For those who have asked why I've not been updating, my old laptop died so I've had to get a new one and this one now has 500GB memory rather than 30GB like my old one. Which means ill be able to keep up with updating a lot more. :D

Also, the sad thing is... I've lost muse. I've hit that dreaded block, people, I'VE HIT WRITERS BLOCK!

Please please PLEASE message me with potential idea's, what you think of the characters and PLEASE go and read Anfisa, the daughter story to this one. I don't know when that one will fully be updating, I guess it depends on Hurricane Irene and where she wants to go.

All my love and luck to people in its way T.T I know I'm worried for my luffer at the moment.

This time, I said I was going to focus on the Hunter didn't I? Well, without further delay, let me begin...

* * *

"_I do apologize, this will not be pleasant but unfortunately it has to be done. Is this your boyfriend Gabriel Brickeran?"_

_The boy was lying on the steel table, it looked like he was sleeping but she could see the beginning of the Y shaped incisions into skin, where the autopsy had been performed, where the knife had taken away anything human her boyfriend had ever been. _

_Tabitha silently stroked a finger down the corpse's face and nodded mutely before she raised her head with a shaken breath and said,_

"_Yes, that's Gabriel." before she turned around and walked out._

_What was there to do? Sometimes she still saw him, standing in her bedroom door watching her straighten her hair. He was dead, but she still saw him. Her mother had said she was simply grieving but Tabitha knew different, the Gabriel that came to her was not dead, he was very much alive and he was warm like she was. _

_He was standing there again tonight, leaning against the door frame and watched with interest as she curled her dark hair before she giggled, stroked the dog and set the straighteners down in their stand and made a motion for him to come over. Gabriel crawled towards her, I say crawl, because that was what he did and when he did Tabitha noticed an immediate difference._

_"Gabe?" She asked. The man ignored her, lunged upon the bed and pinned her down with a grin splitting so far across his face Tabitha really thought the skin would split at the sides. Again, helplessly, she uttered "Gabriel, are you okay baby?" _

_His response was to kiss her, and to kiss her deeply and within that kiss Tabitha could taste something strong, something metallic. Blood. She could taste blood. Was he bleeding? Abruptly pulling away from him the girl raised her hands but Gabriel – at a lack of physical warmth – grabbed her wrists and forced her down. _

_His grip was ice cold, his face emotionless and his body nothing but hard muscle and when she ran her hand down his back to try and scratch him off of her, Tabitha felt the bumps of sores. His condition was shocking._

"_Gabriel!" _

_That was all she got out, Gabriel released her wrists and in that same moment lunged forwards and sank his teeth into the flesh of her throat, constricting the wind pipe and shutting down air flow completely. That was when she knew it, she knew what was going to happen._

_He was actually going to kill her..._

She was sniffing again, the Hunter could hear her from where he lounged atop his medical packs and looked idly towards the window. In truth, he was blind, but he still had his eyes. If there ever was a cure, and he ever got it, he hoped against hope subconsciously that they could save his eyes. His eyes were one of his best assets.

The Witch suddenly wailed.

Angered, the Hunter picked himself upright and crawled slowly towards the door and then crawled around it and down the faded carpet towards the room in which the Witch resided. Even when he got to the door frame she still wailed and when the Hunter poked his head around he didn't realize how close she actually was. The Witch clawed him directly across the face, flaying the skin directly down to the bone and the Hunter could hear as well as see the blood splay up the wall nearest to him. Backing against the door, startled, he turned tail and shot away instantly leaving the Witch to throw things around and stagger around in her anger.

What had set her off?

The Hunter had no idea that it was because of something he had done a few years ago. As subconscious as her anger was, it was still there. It was still there.

The dark beast lay on his back on a roof top, his face aching and his hands covered in his own blood before he rolled over and pressed his cheek against the cold ground. Surprisingly, it helped dull the pain be it a placebo that actually worked or it was something from his human life, or if the concrete was actually helping. With his advanced healing it would take him no more than six hours to regen but that didn't take away from the fact that the fucking bitch had attacked him without a damn good reason!

The Smoker merely lolled lazily nearby* and observed the Hunter quietly with a human arm hanging out of its jaws quietly crunching back and forth as the Smoker enjoyed its meal. The annoying cracking sound was starting to get to the more athletic in the company and after a while the Hunter turned on him, grabbing the arm and jumped up to a higher rooftop and gnawed angrily at the bone. The Smoker – now just as unamused as the Hunter – snaked his high tongue up and grabbed the arm by the thumb, and promptly dragged it back down taking the Hunter in tow. Releasing the grip on the prey after taking a sizeable chunk of skin from the arm, the Hunter crawled back to his previous place on the ground while the Smoker actually took time to look at the hunk of flesh before deciding that now the Hunter had eaten it, it wasn't worth it, and thus he threw it over the side of the building.

Oh if the Hunter could talk...

* * *

"Happy birthday little Jakey, happy birthday to you"

Sang with a chorus of happiness not usually heard and was associated with a zombie apocalypse but Jakobi was to know no difference. The boy kicked his legs happily with a gappy grin upon his face, proceeding to stuff himself like a turkey with all the food his "mother" put in front of him.

When Nira had first taken the baby in she had been unaware of how to care for an infant, but time and patience taught her many things. The most important was: Never. Make. The. Baby. Cry. The first time it had happened, when Nira had found him, no one had paid any attention but all the times after that the horde had been chasing their ass from New Jersey to San Francisco and there was no choice but to keep on running. Now little Jakobi was old enough to understand the very basics, he'd learned to keep quiet and only whimper when he was unamused, in pain, or wanted something. Nira was so grateful.

Jakobi was four, just starting to gabble and try to form decent conversations and now he was too busy nomming away at something to talk to Nira or at least try to communicate something. Until then however Nira just sat and watched him.

The apartment was barricaded but it wasn't safe by any stretch of imagination and so the two of them were still in constant danger. Jakobi slept with Nira, in the warmest sleeping bag there was and Nira always slept in the bathroom because nearly every bathroom had a lock on it and most often a window. She kept to the lower floors, it gave them easy exit.

When travelling Jakobi travelled via back and mostly silent, normally hidden by a dirty hoodie that Nira had to wash in streams and so Jake had to go naked until that dried out but it was better than letting him lie in a festering mess. Four years old, clothes were difficult to find so she fashioned for him what she could, normally no more than crude trousers and the rest of the time he had to go with just that and a hoodie.

Fighting. Dangerous. Very dangerous, and Nira often chose to run rather than stand and fight. Tanks had come along and she had sprinted in another direction. It didn't help that despite the Tank's size it could still fucking climb! That annoyed her to no end, how could it reach the top of a hospital? She could understand one, ish, but three!

She'd met a group of four while Jake had been smaller, and they had travelled together for a while. The manager, the biker, the veteran and the girl. Nira had avoided telling them the true names of both herself and Jake because of consequences, the fear of perhaps one day them coming back expecting something more. She wouldn't be doing with that. Then when the four had been trapped on a bridge, and the veteran had given his life, Nira had run. She couldn't stay there any longer for Jakobi's sake and she knew it.

Jakobi raised his face from the bowl of tinned beans crudely heated over a fire and grinned lightly. Such childish delight, it set her heart on fire. Sighing, Nira leaned forwards and stroked a finger down his cheek then used a scrap of cloth to wipe his face,

"Tomorrow we will move, and unfortunately tike, you can't come with me when I go out. So you'll need to be quiet, I won't be gone long."

* * *

*NOTE* Put up dividers because the orginal didn't load them - thanks Inki Veins.

The * beside the Smoker was because I REALLY wanted to have him in a hammock but that would make me a bit of an immature writer because how the fudge could a Smoker put up a hammock all on his own? Damn the Infected being dumb D: Hammock NOA ¬.¬ I will get one of them in one during one of the chapters, if you find him you get toy.


	8. Our Kingdom, My Daughter

**TOUCHES PROVOKE REACTIONS**

This is it... This is the end... I'm so sad T.T But it is somewhat a relief.

I'm being held at gunpoint for this chapter, Sanctus is going to steal Josh if I don't -.- No one touches Josh but meeeeeeee!

This is **THE LAST CHAPTER**, after this TPR will be posted as a **Completed Fiction** and I shall continue to work on the following:

_~ Blue Collar Series: Story One: Big Apple_

_~ Blue Collar Series: Story Two: Story Of My Life_

_~ Touches Provoke Reactions: Take Two: Born Survivor_

This chapter will link in with Anfisa's birth and childhood, then you'll have to go and read Anfisa in order to read on with what is happening. Me and Sanctus got two chapters done today -1/09/2011- and hopefully they will be up tonight too.

* * *

The Hunter put up with the Witch while she seemed to get bigger and fatter when the months went by, he just convinced himself it was the meat he was bringing her and not the fact the uncomfortable feelings within the Witch was something else entirely. Right now he was lying in his bedroom while she whined and bitched away like usual but he wasn't really paying much attention to her as per normal. The extra loud wail forced the Hunter to raise his head and glared at the door before picking himself up and walked into her bedroom idly and narrowly avoided something being thrown at him.

She was reclining on a tattered old mattress with her arms slumped beside herself but the Hunter ignored it patiently and when he got closer the Witch growled menacingly at him until he moved close enough in which the growl turned to whines and the Witch raised her hand to tug irritably at her shirt. It took him a second to work out why, leaning in to patiently sniff at her skin and recoiled slightly. She was a bitch, so why did she smell sweet? And why was his nose wet? Growling quietly the Hunter sat back on his haunches and rubbed his nose before he bit down on the material and yanked it away despite the Witch's sudden and annoyed yowl which then turned into a happy purr.

So she was wailing because her shirt was too tight? Well it made sense considering she was pregnant – not that the Hunter knew that. When he leaned in to shift again the Witch yowled angrily at him and the navy coloured beast leaned back again before he realized he was the dominant one, he fed her, he made sure she stayed safe and she was telling HIM to stay away? No. Forget that, FORGET that. It didn't work that way and she needed to understand when and where she was supposed to play the good little obedient wife.

Growling, the Hunter jumped on her, shoving her down by the shoulders and bit into her neck despite her yowls and the clawing at her shoulders. He was marking her, declaring the fact that she was his and his alone. His toy to use and abuse, his to screw and his to... take care of. Damnit, he didn't want to take care of her.

While he leaned there, lips to throat, the Hunter felt something kick him quite strongly in the stomach and pulled away abruptly, glaring down at her stomach and poked it. To say the least, he jumped when something actually kicked him back. So again he poked, and again, it kicked. To say the least this Hunter was intrigued and quietly sat there for at least ten minutes poking the greying skin while the Witch whined and yowled but he wasn't concentrating on that. He was concentrating on the fact that he was being kicked back. Then, of course, the Witch lost her temper and the Hunter was sent flailing out of the house with fresh rips in his shirt and her blood smeared on his jaw.

He was lying back on his building again, glaring down at the house from where he was with those rips in his shirt and the cross dangling from his neck and the same Smoker who was always there was lazing around nearby in a flimsy piece of material suspended between two walls. How he put it up the Hunter didn't know but then and there he really didn't care.

That was when he heard the scream.

Fuck. My. Life. Why was she screaming now? There were no humans in the area. The Hunter merely growled angrily and allowed the Witch to keep screaming before he even started to think about moving, he wanted to lick his wounds for a while and if he was unable to do that then there wasn't much point in going home. Home... Funny word. Since when had that thing become his home? It made him stop and it made him think. That place had never been a home to him but he always went back to it, to the Witch. He didn't want this, he'd never wanted a family or a wife, or a lover, or even a baby child.

There were no other infected in the area, so truly why was this Witch screaming as if she were in pain? There was no reason for it. She had been in this state for many hours now, screaming and wailing as if she had been startled by someone. It was a loud and creening noise that was alerting her presence to all those within several miles, including survivors that would love to make sure that they did not run into her. So, where was she? She was resting herself inside of an abandoned house, in the bedroom of a an old couple. There was a dusty, broken picture frame on the floor that showed them, happy and smiling. That had been before the infection had taken place. The Hunter heard the screaming, and it was coming from none other than his Witch, the very one that he had visited more than once and mated with. It had always been something rough and not out of love. She was his mate, as strange as that sounded. It had been months since she had seen his face. Her body had changed. Her middle had ballooned out into a large mass. It almost looked like a beach ball had been attached to her stomach. Her breasts were swollen for some reason. This was unknown to the zombies. Never before had something like this happened. She was knelt down in the corner, her sobbed were rocking her body as contractions were forcing the baby in her womb to move down. She was pregnant, and in labor. This was something that never happened. Her dirty and blood-stricken palms were pressed to her eyes as she screamed in pain.

Mates. It was strange. Nothing like that had been documented. Probably because no survivor ever survived long enough to make a list because they got tore apart or stamped upon by a Tank. It amused the Hunter to see the Tank step on the survivors like the survivors would stamp upon cockroaches. The circle of life, eh? The screaming in the end was more of a curiosity perk er than an annoyance - this was life, screaming people. Be it Infected or survivors. He huffed, a comical expression and left behind his pile of packs, leapt across the rooftop and shimmied over the block or two before dropping down to find his way inside the house. Walking on two legs was okay, generally he preferred the four - easier on his back that way, oh what an old man, it was crumbling steadily on him but it would never give. No survivors would go near them, the Hunter also knew that many infected would steer clear. It seemed only this one was dumb enough to keep going back to the very thing that wanted to kill him. Eventually, he nudged open the door with clawed fingertips, peeked his hood covered head through. Dammit, he hated that noise.

A mating pair of infected individuals had never been heard of, not even among the infected themselves. They were always ignoring the others, or getting angry and trying to kill them. For right now, the Witch was finding her silence the only solace she could find. She had been shot at, set on fire, and who knows what else, but this pain was coming from inside her body. She could not explain it. Well, obviously she could not explain it. She had lost the ability to talk, or even think, for that matter. She shuffled a bit, moving when the pain did not hurt as bad. It came in waves. It had been getting worse over the course of a few hours. Her sobs had died down for a moment or so. She made small, sniffling noises. When that door creaked, she screamed in rage. It did not matter that she did not even see who it was, she was angry. They were getting close and making noise. She wanted it quiet. She just wanted to sit there and cry. She lifted herself up onto her frail legs and jumped at the intruder in her room, but she didn't get far at all. A strange noise escaped her throat, a strangling noise almost. She screamed, but scrabbled back into the shadows of the corner. She had her clawed fingers feeling the crowning head of the babe that she had been unknowingly working so hard to birth. She stopped crying once more, shocked by this alien thing that was sticking out of her. She shuddered, her body forcing the head out another inch. She nearly fell forward onto her face. Her hands shot in front of her and caught herself. She started to push against the pressure that had been gathering in her middle. The babe was birthing much faster now.

The Hunter ducked out instantly she leapt at him - like hell he was getting himself sliced and diced! Though, she didn't reach him and he found that strange because the last time she'd managed to get her ass in his scampering ass as he'd vanished, now she'd scrabbled away from him - so despite the obvious danger he crept further in and found some sort of peace knowing if anything happened he could very easily go out the window. Whatever it was, the Hunter did not want to know but he could smell blood and he was always hungry so he decided to stick around. It was true, even amongst the infected it was unheard of but it had been over 2 years since first infection, surely they were not the only ones who were mated? Around here they most definitely were.

Perhaps mated pairs were not that rare, but none of them had produced a child. That much was almost guaranteed. The Witch was shifting her weight again, making it possible for the child to come out without getting sat on. There was strange feeling that this infected female was getting. It was some sort of tie towards the little being that was sliding free of her body. She had scrabbled onto the bed, so when she felt the bed give a little as an extra weight hit the mattress, she turned to see the sickly little thing. It looked like a reptile. A lizard almost. She was ignoring the Hunter, the very one that had sired this strange little being. The Witch leaned down and sniffed at the cheek of the still babe. It smelt like blood. It made her hungry. She snarled and began to look around, hoping there was something more to it than just this little thing. A few moments later, it seemed as if her troubles were not yet over. She went back to pushing something out. A few minutes later, the after birth was laying on the bed, making it all the more bloody. Infected were going to come to the scene if she did not clean it up. She started to nip at the organic blood filled sac that had come out of her. She jumped and scrabbled away when it began to ooze blood. She snarled and went closer. Then she noticed that it connected to the naval of the little lizard thing by some sort of strange looking cord. She seemed to remember her own belly button. She leaned down and bit at the cord, close to the baby's belly. She left about an inch, but at least the cord was off now. She looked down at the placenta and cord. The blood was too tempting. Her eyes, red and puffy from her constant crying, were shining with blood lust. She at once began to feast on it. The baby hiccuped once, and then she suddenly screamed and squirmed. It was cold!

Of course the Hunter didn't like the sudden noise, but he learned to grow up with it over the period of several weeks and several months even. The babe learned to suckle from its mother and the moment it became old enough to cling and not let go it did so. To its father. Unfortunately, the Hunter disliked the contact at first but when the baby had a habit of clinging to his back like a koala and not let go thanks to the super human strength the Hunter could do nothing but crawl around with her on his back. He loved his daughter, in his own... feral ways. There wasn't any denying it.

* * *

When she began to talk, a year or two later the Hunter couldn't understand her nor could the Witch but she gabbled away despite the language barrier but it wasn't like they couldn't talk together. Just like the girl knew how to talk to them using growls and snarls, the Hunter knew how to point and nom on someone. Well. He did nom on people, he brought arms and legs home for his prized – by now naked – Witch. Said Witch hadn't gotten any new clothes since the birth of the baby simply because she didn't have the reasoning power behind it to go and get new clothes.

The Hunter growled deeply, crawling across the rooftop with a pair of small arms around his neck and then jumped from wall to wall and scaled the side of a crumbling sky scraper to sit on the top to stare out over the dying sun over a dying world of a dying population and a dying species. Growling, the wind whipped about his face before he stretched out and lay down on a high ledge with his wrists crossing and his ankles resting softly over the edge while the four year old wiggled and giggled quietly, toying with two fists in his hair while biting at his hood with a soft sigh before grabbing his silver cross and tried eating that as well. She always tried eating that cross.

This was their world, their kingdom and as the sun settled over the concrete jungle the Hunter stared out over his ruling and roared out his dominance of society.

Clinging to his hood, was the saviour of them all.

* * *

_NOTE: Who found the excerpt for Anfisa? And who found the hammock?_

_I must say, this was stressful, like, really stressful but it's over now and I hope people enjoy it for months to come. Maybe Ill go back and review it, maybe ill completely rewrite it but there wasn't much that could be done. InkiVeins was one of the only reviewers to comment and critique throughout and thus a personal mention is in order, my new best friend. Now I need to go and give critique to a glorious story she wrote named Prey Play, the next one along is Play Ploy and I really like it._

_GO READ IT._

_Thank you, again, finally, again, ill say it again, thank you so much._

_Armani, out. _


End file.
